erase me
by breezysmooth
Summary: "What. So I'm supposed to believe that- that all this... macking business is because you've magically turned into Mason? Yeah, good luck with that." /Jalex/
1. Chapter 1

Title: erase me

Summary: Justin, in your opinion, when he tried to love, loved way too much- and that was part of his problem; he'll eventually factor you to the equation, and you'll be left dangling there like always, trying to figure out what the hell 'sin' means. Multi-chapter fic.

Words:

Timeline: Set in S3.

Disclaimer: I own or share nothing but Alex's understandable hate of math.

A/N: I can't help it. I am hopelessly hooked into this pairing. Oh and I love Mason too. Just saying.

Chapter 1: Open your eyes to the real world

'Wherefore, from Magic I seek assistance,  
That many a secret perchance I reach  
Through spirit-power and spirit-speech,  
And thus the bitter task forego  
Of saying the things I do not know—'

_NIGHT, Faust's Monologue_

You're thinking Justin, Justin, Justin- but a thick Cockney accent is disrupting your desperate chant and those silver plated eyes that look so much like him. (But they're not.)

"Alex?" He enquires worriedly, and you almost choke on the familiarity of the situation. He's Justin, but he just _isn't_ Justin- and that's why you're screaming his name over and again in the back of your head, though you're completely silent.

This just had to be some kind of a sick joke.

Okay, you guess you need to rewind to the beginning of the beginning. You know, to get things straight.

It's a full moon.

You sigh miserably because it doesn't matter anymore, but every single time the moon shows up every month, with its taunting, glowing face, you really wish you learned that vanishing spell. You never liked the full moon, even before when you were with him- your jaw grinds and no you weren't thinking of him, nuh-uh. Nope.

Except your eyes flit across the room, instinctively scanning the surroundings and see the necklace that started the whole mess. A shiver sprouts not-entirely-comfortable goosebumps at the front of your arms, as you reminiscence the coldness of that ruined castle, the darkness whipping around you, the exaltation and hope and anger and (those thousand beautiful emotions you didn't have a vocabulary wide enough to supply for) everything in his eyes- you inhale sharply, the silence sliced.

It's hard to not think of him, okay?

So you shift your attention to the idly doodled sketches in front of you, filled with crescent moons and ruffled bed sheets and disturbed sleepers and wolves- you groan once again, the dark circles underneath your eyes marring your ability to stay awake.

You stare at the wall instead, finding solace in nothingness. Your heart thrums slowly beneath your ribcage, the New York midnight traffic is filtering your bedroom with unwelcome honks and rushes, and it's so quiet it should bother you.

And then the door cracks open, and you let out a relieved sigh.

Took him long enough.

* * *

_-head shakes, refusing to understand._

"_You're not Mason. He left me -"_

"_I'm Mason, Alex."_

_A ragged breath. A wail in your head._

_

* * *

_

"So." You start casually, your hair splayed wildly in front of your face, so you huff the stray strands away, boredom lurking in your eyes.

"What brings you here?" Your voice is nonchalant and authoritative, kind of like when you're at school and a eighth grader asks you about the orchestration of a certain prank- you'll smirk knowingly and lean back against the locker.

But he just smirks right back and crosses his arms, tasteless humour clearly present in his face. (He never learnt how to really smile after **she** left.) "Hello to you too, Alex." You frown, his voice seemed like a block of ice, and while you're looking at him, his eyes seemed to be made out of concrete- solid, smooth, betraying no emotion whatsoever. (When you were younger, he'd always have to look away from their parents when he was covering for you, his eyes gave away everything.)

This, for some strange reason, deeply perturbs you, but you mask it with a 'psh,' and a roll of your eyes. "Dork. So, I ask you once again-" (You say it as if it physically hurts you,) "why. Are. You. Here? It's midnight. Shouldn't you be, I dunno, snoring right now or something."

He says nothing, standing stock-still, he looks like a statue (no emotion, dang it, on his face). He gives you the slightest of nods, as if he's been expecting the comeback. You grimace- really? You're _that _predictable? Max was right, you really are starting to lose your mojo. (And that was when she failed angering him for the forty-first time by dying his hair the colours of the rainbow in his sleep, but hey, who's counting?)

But he moves (and you let out a breath you never knew you held) inches closer to the window, staring outside, blank slate eyes reflecting the light dully.

"That full moon…" He whispers, cracked and hoarse and horrible, much worse than that time when he'd mourned for Juliet through the substation window, and your eyes shift away.

* * *

_-ow could I believe you?" A furious screech._

"_I don't know." He whispers, his voice suddenly too loud._

"_How could he-" _

"_I don't know."

* * *

_

"I want you to help me." The words are robotic, motionless, clear.

You aren't. You just stare at him, perplexed for all of a second until it hits you. Oh. _Oh._ Then you're flabbergasted. (Yes, that's a word. Harper told you. Who knew?) You nervously pick at the cotton underneath the pillow pressing your stomach, eyes averted downwards.

Your throat swells. "Spell books aren't working." It was more of statement than a question.

He nods. "I can't go to the Wizard Council about this either. And Juliet…"

"Is she dead?"

His cheeks flinch. "Yes. No. I don't know." Agony breaks into his voice at his last words, and he looks at you with -finally- some emotion in his eyes. He's lost. (and hurt and broken and those other thousand things that might break your heart all over again.)

And he wants you, his sister- to help fix everything again. Oh.

"Why?" You need no answer for that, you already know. You have a knack for doing the impossible, sure you screw things up- but you always, always finds a solution, however insane and stupid it is. And 99.9% of the time, unless it concerns sea-chimps, it works. And everything usually goes back to normal.

So you agree, and his eyes are bright and fierce, and that calms the unease rolling in your stomach for a while.

(Much later on she wonders how she shifted from _him, him, him_ to **Justin, Justin, Justin** so quickly, and she knows the answer's buried in there somewhere.)

* * *

_… Into a limbo large and broad, since called_

_the paradise of fools, to few unknown_.

* * *

You're making monkey faces at his back, and you chortle when you see his glare.

(And yeah, maybe he's slaving over research on something you're not really sure about anymore, but it concerns Juliet and Mason and fixing things- something important.)

You really should feel like shit, but for this teeny tiny moment you don't. You realise that now, his eyes weren't solid cold little pellets anymore, and that pulls off a weight off your chest so heavy you literally go '_oomph_' afterwards.

"A-_lex_." He hisses and whines at the same time, and you duck your head downwards to hide your smirk. You trace patterns on the mound of crystals right under your nose, carelessly grabbing a fistful.

"Oh, you noticed me." You retort dryly, pouring some of it down your mouth until your tongue melts in the crunchy sweetness. "For a moment there, I almost thought I didn't exist." The raw pile accidentally filters itself to the corner of your lips, and rolls down to your neck until you shake it off, annoyed.

The hollow of your shoulders still have some of the sugar sticking to them, so you drag your finger down to take it and capture it in your tongue, and you grin at him again when you see that he looked up. (It will hit you much later that you always smiled more when you were with him, even after… yeah, that.)

A shadow flitted through his face, a blink of an emotion utterly dark and frightening. Then his face is schooled back to normal, and he impassively shifts his attention to the musty book in front of him. You scowl. The ugly pellets were back.

* * *

_-keep screaming silently. (Scream, scream, scream, all she could is scream)_

"_The signs were there, how could__** I **__be so stupid-"

* * *

_

He's missing.

You realize this one night when you go up to his room for their weekly midnight rituals- re: Annoying the shit out of each other and yet still doing something relevant to their plan to fixing everything- with a smirk in your eyes and an insult on your lips, but both die instantly when you sense his absence.

You tell yourself that you really shouldn't be freaking out, he must be in the terrace, or Max's bedroom or gone to the toilet or something.

You check all those places. He isn't in any of them.

Okay, it's not that bad, you can check the lair. (He isn't there either.)

You shake Max awake- he's half-muddled from sleep and is mumbling something about pink dragons, but he helps you look.

He isn't anywhere. (You check school, the library, the Wiz-tech library-don't ask how you got there- the alien language league's secret clubhouse, fricking every place known to man at two in the morning.)

Time to freak out.

* * *

You shake like a leaf, so beyond tired that all you feel is mind-freezing numbness.

You drag yourself to your room, your legs made out of lead, your heart a hollow mess, and you just want to give up for the day. Even walking seemed like brainless repetition- lift your left leg, move it forward, wince; rinse, repeat with other leg.

You're right outside your room, and you look at his room for one last time, one last attempt before you collapse.

(Nothing.)

And then your heart gladly plummets downwards like a fighter jet, zooming past your joy, relief, your meager attempt at normalcy. Your mind drifts to the only thing you remember from Biology class- your heart is apparently protected by this sac which connects the rest of the veins together, and if it's torn, or hurt in any way - the whole organ breaks down.

You think that's the most rational explanation right now, because your heart? It _bleeds_.

And what happens after that, Mr. Johnson? Will this girl live after that? Will she ever go back to that so-called normalcy, she desperately, completely craves?

Big, fat tears sting your eyes until they soak the blood-shot veins, and your body, it aches as you close the door and rest your head on it, silence whipping your ears, the edge of her vision blurred. You close your eyes for a moment, the closest you have been all day to a sob. You sigh, and your eyesight clears by a hundred thousand pixels at what they see.

And they see him.

* * *

_Open your eyes like I open mine_  
_It's only the real world_  
_A life you will never know_  
_Shifting your weight to throw off the pain_  
_Well you can ignore it_  
_But only for so long

* * *

_

**I love cryptic chapters, and this is just the beginning. And reviews are seriously appreciated. On a side note, finals are coming up, and as hard it seems to digest, eighth grade is a serious thing here in this island, so I might not be updating that often for this fic.**

**Oh, and I reaaallllyyyy need a beta. Someone to help me out with these fics- any volunteers? I'll help you out as much as you'll be helping me.**

**Oh, and the references-**

"Into a limbo large and broad, since called / the paradise of fools, to few unknown." - Paradise Lost

Open your eyes like I open mine/ It's only the real world/ A life you will never know/ Shifting your weight/to throw off the pain/ Well you can ignore it/ But only for so long" - Careful, Paramore

**And thus it has been proved I am a Paramore addict.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This author really appreciates that. I also wanna give out a shoutout to Meg-Seister, who is my wonderfully brill beta, and Not Just a Nerd, who took the time and patience to review every single ffic of mine and favourite it and (gosh, I should shut up now.) Thank you for sending me the alerts and subscriptions; it means the world to me. Oh, and Baku Babe? There's ALWAYS more sin in maths than Jalex ;p.

Uh, I should let you read the chapter now.

**Chapter 2: Steel knife in my windpipe**

"_God spared the rose, he sent the rain."_

"_Oh, Ralph. Who sent the fire?"_

**the thorn birds**

You gape at him dumbly, as if he was the eighth wonder of the world. (You don't know what the other seven are, so don't ask.) You do a rain check, just to see if you're hallucinating.

You pinch yourself and wince. Nope, not a dream.

Somebody that is not you is shifting your legs, closer and closer to the edge of the bed where he's lying down sleeping peacefully. That person (that is so obviously not you) is bringing your knees downwards, examining his face thoroughly and trying to convince you that he's not a mirage.

And his lips appear to have upturned to a little smile and his brow is cleared- and gosh, you've never seen him so calm and normal and Justin before. Your heart tugged, and you find with great surprise that it had healed (not so fully but yes, in the process of it) and you find yourself sighing, a timbre of deep relief.

You are this close to slapping him awake and demanding where the hell he went- but yup, your arms aren't agreeing, as usual. Your fingers lightly trace the slant of his cheekbones, the flutter of his eyelashes, the hook of his nose, and everything's real. His heart thumps in his chest, see, just like yours, and look, he breathes in and out, making dorky snores that indicates that he really is sleeping.

See, Alex? He's here, slumbering in your bed- and nothing's happened to him.

A half-wrangled sob hangs in the vicinity of your throat, - you are not going to cry, not now, especially not now- and you propel yourself upwards. Your body thuds against the mattress, conveniently draping your arms around his frame and pressing your legs behind his. You exhale, and snuggle closer to him, still wrapping your mind around the fact that he's not dead, or mauled, or- or those thousand other horrible things. You close your eyes, reality slowly slipping away.

A little nap won't hurt anyone.

* * *

"_The dying of an idea, which had no right to be born, let alone nurtured."_

"_There is nothing which has no right to be born."_

_

* * *

_

The glare of sunlight, (too bright and cheerful, god damn it) hits your face and you groan. You can feel it searing through the back of your eyelids, burning your pupils. You hate mornings.

A low chuckle sounds from nowhere- turns out you must have said that out loud. Your head snaps to your left, and his sleepy face greets you, grinning. You frown. Since when did he get so… perky?

Then you realise that your legs are intertwined with his (in a very non-sisterly and not-exactly-bad way) and your arms are no better. You promptly yank your legs away, disentangling yourself from him. (The sudden coldness that hits you had to be because of the fan above you, completely)

"You're awfully chirpy." You grumble, scowling at him darkly. "You know, for someone who went MIA for no real reason at midnight." And scaring the daylights out of you, you want to add- but that won't help. He grins again, but says nothing.

You arch an eyebrow, frustration and half-amusement flicking after each other on your face. "Dude. You owe me an explanation." You wait.

And wait. You can literally hear crickets chirp in the background. You sigh exasperatedly. "Justin, what the hell were you doing-" He most uncharacteristically seizes your chin, staring at you deeply with those emotions that screamed "Shut up." and something else. But it works, and you quiet. He beams, his smile so wide and genuine it hurts to look at it.

"Hi." He murmurs quietly, his voice raspy and husky, kinda… nice. His face is near you, and your blood roars in your ears. You can feel his breath on you now, slow and puffy and very, very distracting.

"Hi." You echo hoarsely, cracking on that one syllable. And while your vocal chords are failing, your mind is yelling at you to move away, because this is definitely not gonna turn out well- but then his lips crash onto yours and reason went out the window. Your face is frozen, staring at him wide-eyed. Your mind catches up with the rest of your body, and yes- Justin fricking Russo is kissing you.

At that moment, all the pent-up tension from the past few weeks bubbles up in your chest and combusts.

(To hell with this.)

You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't feel- nothing except his mouth moving against yours and a thin, prickling and very unexpected heat flooding your nerve ends on fire. Your hand creeps to his cheeks to pull his face off, but you somehow push instead of pull- and your face is fused with his, waves of passion gushing in so fiery your eyes scald and melt, your hands char.

His hands rove feverishly across the small of your back, graze that secret sensitive spot on your neck (which isn't so secret anymore), and those thousand other spots that thrummed the exactly right way when he touched them.

And as abruptly as it started, he breaks off -way way too soon- and you're left panting with delirium, the prickly heat slowly seeping away. Your eyes expand as you meet his gaze.

* * *

"_You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"_

_

* * *

_

What the fuck just happened?

* * *

"_No. But if it was born at all, it was meant to be."_

_

* * *

_

Oh, yeah. You just happened to kiss… (wait for it) your brother, of all people- and here's the killer; you actually liked it.

Shit.

You're cursing under your breath, hands pulling at your hair - because if it was anywhere else it would end up strangling your throat- pacing around every known surface of the room, simultaneously not looking at him. _Shitshitshitshitshit_-

"Freaking out won't help that much." The other person in the room suggested helpfully. You look up to him, your face the very epitome of fury. He's in the same room? After doing **that** to you? He had the nerve…. A growl catches in your gullet. "Get. Out."

He sighed. "Alex, I'm sorry." Damn right he should be. "I shouldn't have done that. It was on impulse, I haven't seen you in so long. Actually I should, being your- well, the thing is… I-I'm sorry for making Justin do it, okay? He'll never do something disgustingly illegal or queer like this. He's a good guy."

You squint. Okay, two things seriously wrong with that apology. You don't know what he's talking about, and secondly, why the hell was he referring to himself in third person? Oh, god. He must have hit his head or something. You almost deflate in relief, because obviously Justin would never do… that in his right mind, right? And use words like 'queer' and sound exactly like… it all makes sense now.

You step towards him resolutely, scanning him thoroughly. Hmm, his arms seemed to have cuts all over, and the left corner of his shoulders looked like its gashed, but no noticeable major injuries. You need to look closer. You part his hair, wincing at the sight of his scalp. You poke it and a guilty sting of pleasure surges through you when he winces.

"Uh… excuse me, love- but what exactly are you doing?" He says, sounding confused and a bit too cocky. You pause, glowering at him until he gets the message.

He got the message. "Okay." He squeaks, much like the dork you thought he was before, and promptly shuts up.

"Did you bash your head repeatedly with a brick?" You seethe, boring your eyes expectantly onto his. "Because that's the only way you could get -ugh- this." You wave to the disfigured monstrosity that was his head- it failed you how he managed to survive for more than (you look at the clock and groan) twenty hours in this state.

You ask him, and he has this not-entirely-Justin crooked smile on his face. "Through the power of Magic." He says mysteriously, and cracks up at his lame joke. You stare at him, incredulous. Honestly, if he was going to act like this he'll be the spitting image… yeah, of he-who-can't-be-named.

"Justin." You groan his name, and he sobers.

"Alex." He says, with abject seriousness in his eyes and no, this is so not good- "I have to tell you something."

* * *

"_Opposites attract." A smirk. A scowl. _

"_Yes, but if you turn them around and put them very near each other- they repel."_

_

* * *

_

"Wow." That's all you can manage right now, sputtering. "That's just..."

"So you believe me." He says, sounding relieved. He passes a hand over his forehead. "That was too easy." He mutters under his breath. You arch an eyebrow.

"Nooo." His face falls. "I can't believe how horrible the head injury must be. God, you must have hit your head really deep-" Barely concealed concern laces your voice as you near him again, glancing worriedly at his hair.

"No, no." He cuts in immediately, palms facing her, backing off. "You don't get it, do you?" He scrubs his face tiredly.

"What. So I'm supposed to believe that-" You make incongruous hand signals. "That all this- macking business is because you've magically turned into **Mason**?" You 'psh', crossing your arms. "Yeah, good luck with that."

"Nobody's getting macky- Christ, will you listen to me for a moment, yeah?" He says, frustration evident in his tone. He growls, and then it occurs to you that he has been pretty feral for the past couple of - no, so not going there. You are not going to believe him; he must've hit his head so bad that- wait a minute.

"What did you say?" His eyebrows bunch together.

"Uh, I beg your pardon?"

"What did you say, like just now?"

"I-I don't know." He mumbles, looking away and his cheeks scarlet. Your eyes resent, but you're dead set on this.

"Oh, no you don't. You better cough it up, bub- or else." Silence. You're getting worried at the possibility of a coma that can occur while standing, so you open your mouth to speak.

But wait- he's responding.

He swivels his head to you, and through the scraped off skin and the cocky attitude- you see staggering tenderness in his eyes. Your jaw shuts, locks into place.

"I… still might love you." The whisper reverberates through your chest, shuddering in a corner of your heart you never knew existed.

"Justin?" A voice gasps behind you, and that secret place in your heart shatters.

(Oh, sweet irony- thou art feckless.)

* * *

"_Does it matter? It just is."_

_

* * *

_

Heavy words like _disown_ and _exile _and _disappointment _pace anxiously in your brain, but surprisingly- your mother uses none of these when she speaks.

"Justin, _hijo_." She sighs, bliss and relief mixed on her face. She rushes to him and crushes him, planting a solid kiss on the forehead.

"Hi… mum." He says, his voice as tight and restrained as his smile. He rubs her back awkwardly, shooting a pleading look at you. (What, he wants **you** to help him? Seriously?)

You glance at him innocently, smirking a little. _Payback is a bitch, bro._

You indulge yourself a little longer until you decide he's suffered enough- you sigh wearily, and cut in.

"Hey mom, ask him where he went last night." You retort casually, eyes fixed on his. "I've been dying to know." Your mom detaches herself, looking at him questioningly.

The sarcasm isn't lost on him, but as he stretches his neck he feeds you that crooked smile of his (you know, the not-really-your-brother one) and you narrow your eyes at him. Crooked smiles are as charming to you as a bucket of mud - _no they aren't_, a little voice murmurs in your ear- and you see right through them.

"I'm sorry. I went to Transylvania, Juliet- she was in her dying hours, and she asked for me, and… and I went. It was all so sudden that I couldn't contact you or Dad, not even Alex- and I really, really am sorry, mum. I'll never do this again." Morose eyes catch your gaze, and genuine regret seeps into his voice.

Your stomach does a double whammy, and you exhale sharply. He was telling the truth- that much you knew. And that, that meant…

"Justin." You gasp, mirroring the remorse in his eyes. "I would have come along." Accusation leaks into your tone, and he chuckles hollowly - his eyes as blank as that first night when he asked you for help.

A horrible image floods into your consciousness- a sagged, skullish face, weathered and strands of platinum-gold hair floating into view. Juliet's sad eyes gazed upwards, filled with sorrow and longing and brain-simmering loneliness.

"_Justin."_ Her lips pucker in a ghost of a sigh, and you choke back a sob. Your eyes shut as hers closes, for the last time- synchronicity; the last thing you'd expect from a dying woman, - and her face relaxes into bliss.

You open your eyes, staring at him.

"Thank you."

_And that's all you say before you run out of the room._

_

* * *

_

'_That's the effect of living backwards, it always makes one a little giddy at first-'_

_'Living backwards! I never heard of such a thing!'_

_'-but there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways.'_


End file.
